


too confused to be amazed

by segmentcalled



Series: i wanna wake up with you [4]
Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Anxiety, Boundaries, Coming Out, Communication, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Multi, No Smut, Outing, Panic Attacks, Platonic Relationships, Polyamory Negotiations, Sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:55:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23567938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/segmentcalled/pseuds/segmentcalled
Summary: “What the hell, Patrick?” says Griffin McElroy, sliding into the vacant seat next to him.“Uh,” Pat says, “what?”
Relationships: Patrick Gill & Griffin McElroy, Patrick Gill & Simone de Rochefort, Patrick Gill/Griffin McElroy
Series: i wanna wake up with you [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1409938
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33





	too confused to be amazed

**Author's Note:**

> _well i've been huddled up alone by the fire_  
_even though i’m not exactly feeling cold_  
_and i’ve been bundled up for days,_  
_too confused to be amazed_  
_at all the icy water in my veins_  
_why do i feel so alone?_  
[paper tigers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YtwWXVKUZBY), owl city
> 
> i love simpat

The month after Pat and Simone decide to break up is even less fun than Pat would have anticipated. It’s not even like things are weird between them. Things at home are just fine. But there’s _paperwork_, and there’s _telling family_, and there’s —

“What the hell, Patrick?” says Griffin McElroy, sliding into the vacant seat next to him. The seat, as it happens, is at Simone’s desk, because she’s not at work today.

“Uh,” Pat says, “what?”

Griffin blinks, and very clearly redirects himself to a different tactic. “Where’s Simone?” he says.

Oh, this is not — this is not going to be a fun conversation. Shit. “She’s got the flu,” Pat says.

“What?”

“She’s home sick? She’s got the flu?” Pat says. This doesn’t appear to be the answer Griffin was expecting either. Pat elaborates into the silence: “She didn’t get her flu shot because, quote, she ‘doesn’t like people sticking needles in her.’ Which, like, fine, but now she’s sick and I’m not, so I guess there is something to the whole thing after all.”

“I thought you guys broke up,” Griffin says carefully, and Pat sighs and pushes his hair out of his face.

“Sort of. I mean, like, yeah? But, like, it’s not — it’s not — we’re fine, though, it’s, there’s no bad blood, I — wait, who told you that?”

Griffin has the good grace to look a little sheepish. “Couple people were talking in the kitchen upstairs.”

“People here?” Pat says, pointing to the floor, meaning _Polygon people specifically?_

“No, uh, no, just the people who share the same kitchen.”

Pat rubs his face with a hand. “What’d they tell you.”

“I think, uh, I think they were misinformed,” Griffin says, squirming, a little uncomfortable. Pat waits him out, raises his eyebrows. “Said that, uh, that you’d had some sort of big blowout argument or something and that’s why she hasn’t been here all week is ‘cause she, um, well, they were hypothesizing that she wouldn’t want to be around you, maybe?” He winces as he says this. “Also someone said that you’re gay and were just, like, married to her to pretend you were straight, which — I mean, all of that’s pretty shitty, and I probably shouldn’t have believed any of it, but even I knew that that part was a little far.”

“Oh,” Pat says, “well, that’s the only part that’s even close to right.”

Griffin takes a beat to absorb this. “What?”

Pat gives a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. I am gay. We had pretty much the best, most amicable breakup known to, like, humanity, and we’re still living together and shit, like, it’s fucking _fine_. We’re best friends, that’s — it’s — that’s how it’s _supposed_ to be. It just — it didn’t work out, romantically, for _either_ of us, it was completely mutual and I am — who the hell is spreading this shit?”

“I’m guessing it’s a sort of, like, telephone-game situation.” Griffin definitely looks uncomfortable now, but at least his manner has shifted into sympathetic rather than suspicious.

“Great. Awesome. Cool. I’m gonna have to make a fuckin’ — public statement around here, I guess? Just what I wanted. Fuck.”

“I’m sorry, man,” Griffin says, and when Pat looks at him his eyebrows are drawn. “I. Shit, dude, that — fuck. That really sucks. I can try and go do some damage control, if anyone’s still up there?”

“Sure,” Pat says, “go for it.” He feels a panic attack coming on. He feels like he’s about to cry right here in front of Griffin fucking McElroy. He wants to go home. He doesn’t want to be here. Doesn’t want to do this. Doesn’t want to — doesn’t want everyone to fucking _know_ his whole business — doesn’t want to have to out himself right now when it’s still raw and new and _terrifying_. He wants Simone. He wants her to be here. She’d know what to do, she’d grab his hand and squeeze it to ground him and they’d talk about it, they’d form a plan. Why isn’t she _here_.

“Pat?” Griffin says softly, and Pat’s eyes snap back into focus on him. “I, um. There’s probably, like, protocol for this shit, ‘specially with — y’know, with, like, with your sexuality being dragged into it — um. Oh. Hey. Hey, bud, let’s — c’mon, okay? Let’s take a walk.”

Pat follows Griffin blankly into the stairwell and sits down next to him, puts his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, and tries to even out his shuddery panicked breathing.

Griffin is quiet for a moment; the only sounds are of Pat’s uneven breaths. “I’m sorry,” Griffin says. “I should’ve known better. You’re — you’re not that kind of person.”

“I’m glad you told me,” Pat says, even though his voice is strangled and he sounds anything but glad. “I’d rather know than not.”

“Still. I came at you pretty strong, there. That was shitty, and I shouldn’t have done that. Do you — do you need anything? Is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t know, Griffin,” Pat says. “I don’t know — I don’t know if I’m ready for everyone to know yet.” He takes his hands off his face and looks at him. “It hasn’t even been two weeks. I — I told my sister yesterday, and she was, like, she was fine, she didn’t — she wasn’t weird or anything, just sounded, sounded kind of sad, and — I don’t know how I’m going to tell anyone, it’s — it’s gonna be such a massive disappointment —”

“No, hey, no,” Griffin says, and then a cautious arm wraps around Pat’s shoulders and Pat leans into the touch, leans against Griffin’s side, where he’s warm and solid. “There’s nothing — Pat. Pat, there’s nothing disappointing about — it’s _okay_. Sometimes relationships don’t work out, it happens all the time.”

Pat shrugs, tense. Stares at the stairs. “I dunno. Everyone was — god, everyone was so happy I’d, like, settled down with — with Simone, with someone I could live that happy heterosexual lifestyle with, and I — I just — I’m gonna have to start _all over_, and I don’t — fuck — I don’t even know how I’m supposed to start. Simone was, like, the second person I kissed in my whole fuckin’ life. She’s my best friend and I love her to death and I have no _idea_ how I’m supposed to be with anyone other than her. Everything made sense before — no, fuck, that’s not even true, nothing made sense before I figured this out but I knew how to navigate it, and now it’s like — like — now what?”

Griffin hugs him tighter and it is all Pat can do not to cling to him, not to fist his hands in the back of Griffin’s shirt and cry into his shoulder; he’s shaking with the effort of holding himself together, trying not to burst into tears in the stairwell of his fucking workplace.

“For what it’s worth,” Griffin says softly, “I believe in you. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” He strokes his thumb across Pat’s shoulder. “I know it’s scary. I haven’t — I haven’t dated a lot of men before, because — yeah. I get it. Putting yourself out there like that, especially if you’re not ready to be publicly out — like, yeah, no shit, dog, you’ve got every right to be freaked out. But you don’t gotta rush into it. Y’know? You do what you’re ready for, when you’re ready for it.”

“But if people are saying —”

“I’ll take care of it. Don’t even fuckin’ worry.”

“How? What are you gonna say?”

Griffin thinks for a moment. “Who have you told so far?”

“I only told Allegra. I dunno who Simone told. She might’ve talked to Tara. I’m not sure if we were gonna do that together. And I’m sure Allegra wouldn’t have told anyone. So I dunno how it got around.”

Griffin is quiet again. “I mean, I can report their asses, y’know. Like, I mean, the people I heard earlier. But I dunno what you want to do.”

Pat sighs. “I’ll talk to Simone later, I guess. See what she thinks. I — thanks for telling me.”

“‘Course,” Griffin says softly. “I’m sorry for accosting you. If you need anything — even just to talk — I’m here for you. ‘Kay?”

“Thank you,” Pat mumbles into his shoulder. Fuck, he wants to go home. He wants Simone. Wants to press close to another human being who — who knows him like she does, who knows how to help him through a panic attack, who he knows just as well in return, who will kiss his forehead and hold his hands and remind him that they’re a team.

Fuck.

They are a team still, right?

And _that’s_ the thought that sends him straight over the edge into real panic, at the thought of losing her, at the thought of finding his best friend suddenly a stranger, at the thought of — of — at the suggested thought of her skipping work to avoid him, at the thought of everything totally falling apart and being left to try and hold it together and fuck, _fuck_, he knows that’s not going to happen — it’s not going to happen — it’s not going to happen, right?

“Whoa, hey, hey, bud, it’s okay, it’s okay, I got you,” Griffin is saying, soft and low like he’s trying to calm some sort of scared wild thing, his hands fluttering over Pat’s spine, petting at him gentle and rhythmic in an attempt to settle him.

He can’t think, and also can’t talk, or _shouldn’t_ talk, because he sobs into Griffin’s shoulder, “I want to go _home_,” like he’s five goddamn years old at a sleepover he doesn’t want to be at, and it is the worst, most humiliating, most awful thing in the whole world, why does _this_ have to be the kind of panic attack he’s having right now, can’t he just have the kind that makes him go still and quiet and distant, he hates those _too_ but at least they’re — they’re acceptable for work, not crying like a child in the stairwell and snotting on Griffin’s shirt, what a fucking nightmare.

He makes a devoted attempt to wrench himself together, to force himself to stop crying, and then he’s just shuddering against Griffin, his breath hitching but thank god thank _god_ there’s no more tears coming out of him, and Griffin’s stroking his hair which is, which is _wild_, which is something he’d never even conceptualized.

“If you need to go home,” Griffin says softly, his cheek against Pat’s head, “I’ll cover for you.”

This almost sets Pat off again, too touched by the gesture. He holds tighter to Griffin, almost involuntarily, but Griffin stays placid, still, unbothered, and just keeps running his fingers through Pat’s hair until Pat’s pulled himself together enough to sit back and wipe at his face with the back of his hand and try for a shaky smile at Griffin. Griffin pats his arm.

“Seriously. I’ll even come deliver your shit so you don’t have to go back in there, if you don’t want people seeing you.” At Pat’s surprised blink — _how did Griffin get him dead to rights like that, what the hell_ — Griffin smiles a little. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve done this same thing. Tell me what you need from your desk, I’ll go grab it for you, and then you can go home and I’ll take care of it. Promise.”

“Thank you,” Pat says, voice raw with gratitude, and Griffin squeezes Pat’s arm fondly before he lets go. “I, uh, I just need my bag, and my laptop, which is on my desk, I think. I’m pretty sure, anyway.”

“Okay. Give me two minutes.” Griffin stands, hops down the three steps and slips through the door, back to the bullpen.

Griffin beats his estimated time by almost a full minute and scoots back through the door. He holds out a hand to help Pat to his feet, and then — to Pat’s surprise — uses the momentum to pull him into a hug.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Griffin says. “I promise you.”

“Thank you,” Pat says again, because what else can he say? Griffin lets go of him and hands over his bag, and then says _later, Patrick_, and smiles and then goes back to take care of — whatever the hell it is that he’s going to do to take care of — whatever this mess is.

He calls Simone as he slowly picks his way down the seven flights of stairs, not wanting to run into a single human being if he can help it, skipping the elevator entirely.

“What’s up?” she says, her voice still raspy, and a little sleepy like he might’ve woken her up, which he feels bad about ‘cause she’s sick and deserves the rest.

“I’m coming home,” Pat says.

“Oh no, did you get sick too?”

“No. I had a big fuckin’ panic attack and Griffin sent me home.”

Simone makes a sympathetic noise. “Did something happen?”

“Kind of. I’ll tell you when I’m home.”

“Uh.”

“I — if I get into it I’m going to lose my shit again and I have the whole commute home.”

“Of course,” she says, gentler. “I’ll be here. Using up this entire box of tissues.”

“Save some for me?”

“You got it, bro,” she says, and that gets a laugh out of Pat, and he feels just a little lighter when the call ends.

* * *

“Pat, oh, honey, no,” Simone says, stroking Pat’s hair as he lays miserably at her side, his face pressed against her hip. “I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”

Pat nods, and she scritches at the nape of his neck, which always draws a deep sigh out of him, makes him melt against her a little. God, what he wouldn’t give to be able to kiss her right now, to bury himself in her, to not have to think about anything — but first of all she’s sick and he doesn’t want to catch it, and second of all _wow_ he’s gonna have to unpack _that_ shit, good Lord, that doesn’t seem like a healthy habit to be in.

“I know it’s scary,” she says, when Pat doesn’t say anything. “But, honestly, Pat, you mean so much to me, too. I’m not losing you if I can help it.” He chances a look up at her face; she’s smiling at him, a little. He tries to smile back, and she traces her thumb over his cheek. “Don’t make me get all sentimental on you,” she says.

“A little late for that,” he says, leaning into her touch.

“Yeah, yeah. You affectionate motherfucker,” she says, with warmth. “I think it’s contagious.”

“Mm. Well, you can catch my lovey-dovey bullshit if I get sick ‘cause of you.”

“Lovey-dovey bullshit is a terminal affliction, I think!”

“Well, fuck,” Pat says, “guess I’m screwed, then,” and Simone laughs.

“I’m pretty sure I’ll be back at work again tomorrow,” she says, “considering I’m probably not dying. So things will be normal, and we can, like, really ostentatiously have lunch together or something, and then maybe everyone can shut up.”

“I hope so,” Pat says with a sigh, and rolls over onto his back. Simone’s hand lands on his collarbone, and traces absently down his sternum, to rest flat-palmed on his stomach, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. He folds his arms above his head and looks at her. He doesn’t think he’s ever loved anyone so much in the whole world as he’s loved her. As he loves her, present tense. He trusts her with every piece of himself, and there’s never been a moment where he felt like they were out of balance in that regard.

God, it would be so much _easier_ if things could stay like this. But he knows they both deserve more than this. Deserve another chance. He just wants to fucking cry, though. He feels so safe with Simone. How will he ever find something like this again?

He closes his eyes and wonders if there will ever be a time when he doesn’t have to pray for things to be different.

* * *

When Simone’s back at work, things quickly resettle into normalcy. Things are business as usual for the two of them; whatever gossip remains after whatever it was that Griffin did — Pat’s not entirely sure, or even if he _did_ do anything, but that’s honestly beside the point, because whatever was going on seems to have stopped.

Thank god. Pat doesn’t need more shit to worry about.

No, he’s got plenty on his plate, between all this and work and agonizing over telling family and trying to sort through his feelings and the impending new hires that they’ve just opened up positions for and, and, and, fuck.

He curls into Simone’s arms and kisses her and tries to find the feeling he wants to feel when they kiss and he comes up blank every time and it sure spoils a makeout sesh when a person bursts into frustrated tears about how they can’t do this nor anything else right.

Simone takes these upheavals in stride. She pets Pat’s hair and lets him ramble anxiously and reminds him over and over and over, with more patience than anyone should ever have to have, that Pat is doing his best and that there is nothing wrong with being gay nor with not being attracted to her.

“I don’t know why it feels different now,” Pat says, dragging the back of his hand over his eyes.

“I think it’s cause you’ve acknowledged it,” Simone says, running her hand over his bicep. “You’re not forcing yourself into feelings anymore. Or. As much, anyway.”

“We should probably stop fooling around but I don’t want to,” Pat says, stubborn even in this shitty way. He doesn’t get that spark of arousal except in response to things that feel good, and he’s honestly never liked getting off on his own. Simone will press herself to his back and jerk him off and he’ll gasp and whimper and come just like he would on his own. It’s just. It’s no different than it would be on his own.

He trusts Simone with his body just about as much as he trusts himself with it, and so it doesn’t feel _bad_ when she touches him. It’s more that he knows, now, that he’s been putting it on. Simone had laughed a little sadly when he told her that; told him that sounds about right.

“I mean, we make the rules,” Simone says, “and if you don’t want to stop, we don’t have to. But if it’d be healthier for you, then you’re right, we probably should.”

“I don’t know,” Pat says, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I love you, and I trust you, and it feels better doing this with you than it does on my own. I get so in my head.”

“I know,” she says, fondly, and pats his arm. “I wonder if that’s not related to all this.” She gestures expansively, encompassing all of _being gay_ to _performing heterosexuality_ to _every other bullshit facet of Pat’s bullshit sexuality crisis_.

He gives her a flat look until they both burst into giggles. “You’re probably right,” he sighs. “I just — I dunno, like, obviously I know pretty fuckin’ well what’s what at this point, but it’d be. It’d be nice to have a data point, I guess.”

“Are you saying you want to hook up with someone? Because if you want to hook up with someone, you can hook up with someone.”

“I don’t even know _who_,” Pat says, dismayed. “Griffin knows what’s up and he told me he’s bi, but he’s married.”

“What about Justin?”

“Also married, Simone. And probably straight.”

“I mean,” Simone says, “we’re married.”

“We’ve got some, uh, extenuating circumstances, though. I highly doubt that’s the case for _anyone_ else we know.”

“Polyamory is, like, a thing.”

“Sure, cool, I’ll just be like, hey Justin, what’s up, do you like men, are you D-T-F, yep sure absolutely I understand you going to HR immediately.”

“Patrick. It wouldn’t go like that. First of all, you’d never be so brazen. What if I set you up?”

“With Justin? Sim, he’s great, but I swear to you he’s straight.”

“Griffin, then. God, this is like some fuck/marry/kill: McElroy edition, huh?”

“I’m not killing Travis, thanks!”

“But you’d fuck or marry Griffin.”

“He’s married,” Pat insists, but Simone’s giggling sets him off again too. “So I can’t choose that one!”

“Do you want to fuck Griffin?”

“Si_mone_.”

“Yes or no?”

“I’d fuck him if he was single or had Rachel’s permission, sure, yeah. He’s cute.” Pat’s face is burning; he puts his hands over it to try and hide.

Simone smiles, smug. “I can find out for you. If he could get her permission, I mean.”

“_How_.”

“I have my ways!” she chirps, and wraps Pat into a bear hug.

“Don’t you dare use my sob story on him.” Pause. “I already used my sob story on him. God, Simone, I just want something low-stakes, with someone who’ll be patient with me and not, like, expect a relationship or something. I don’t know if I’m ready for a relationship. I just want to — to find my footing, I guess. To feel out what I want and what I don’t want.”

“Griffin would be a really good candidate for that,” Simone says, and Pat sighs.

“Sure, fine, find out if he’d fuck me. He won’t, I’m telling you right now.”

“Uh-huh,” says Simone. “Sure. I bet you dinner every night next week that he will.”

“Fuckin’ fine. Hope you’re ready to make dinner, then!”

“Try me, bitch,” Simone says, and tackles him down to the bed. He tickles her ribs until she’s shriek-giggling and pulls his hair in retaliation. He gasps sharply, and she freezes, and he freezes, and then he just… tucks his face against her shoulder. Doesn’t chase it, this time.

Simone holds him so close, her heartbeat right next to him, as they both feel the weight of the boundary newly placed between them.

God, Pat hopes he’s making the right choice here.

* * *

Simone is right, because Simone is always right, and Patrick should really stop questioning it at this point, and Griffin’s coming over tomorrow after work, Patrick, so you should think of something nice for dinner.

“Wait wait wait, he’s already coming _over?”_

“Yeah, I figured you’d want to talk first. You don’t have to bone the first time he comes over, you know,” Simone says, and boops his nose. “But he _is_ into it.”

Pat just stares at her, stunned, until she cackles and leaves Pat to his thoughts.

Griffin looks a little shy, a little awkward, when he turns up at their doorstep, but he has a smile for Pat and a hug for Simone, who winks at Pat and slips out the door as Griffin walks inside.

“I thought she was going to stay and help me find words,” Pat says, a little helpless, and Griffin laughs, not unkindly.

“I mean, this is your own shit, man. Although I don’t blame you. She is a force of nature, huh?”

“Tell me about it,” Pat says, as Griffin follows him to the table. There’s small talk then, of wine and food and various miscellany and then —

“So Simone tells me you’re looking for, uh, for sort of a no-strings-attached situation,” Griffin says cautiously.

“Fuck, how much did she _tell_ you?”

Griffin grimaces a little. “I mean, not much more than what you told me. And also, y’know, what you were, um, kinda looking for. Which is something I’m totally down to do, but I don’t want you to feel pressured by me or by Simone or some sense of obligation, y’know? If you want to fool around, I’m hells of into it, and Rachel’s fine with it, but I need to know you’re doing it for _you_, not for anything else. Or anyone else.”

“I am into it,” Pat says softly. “I want to — to try — to see —” Pat sighs at his own stuttering, shakes his head. “I want this, Griffin. I’ve never done this before, and I trust you to be, like, not shitty about it. I’m afraid that if I go into my first, y’know, relationship with a guy and haven’t handled my bullshit, then I’m just gonna make everything blow up in my face.”

“So you just want to blow it up in my face instead,” Griffin says. He’s clearly teasing, but it sets Pat’s nerves right back off again.

“No! No, that’s not what I meant, I meant that I — that I — that I don’t want to do this alone and I hate subjecting Simone to it all the time because she shouldn’t have to deal with my garbage when this is hard for both of us and I just, I just, I just want someone who I can — who I can do this with and not feel like a piece of shit, and maybe fuck someone who I’m attracted to and have the novel goddamn experience of fucking someone I don’t feel guilty about not being attracted to, and — and —”

He breathes in, shuddery, when Griffin lays a hand on his forearm. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Griffin says softly. Pat wipes furiously at his eyes, embarrassed, ashamed. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t a funny thing to say, not when you’re still grappling with this. That’s a lot to try and handle; I’m sure you’re overwhelmed. You have every right to be.”

Pat nods miserably, and Griffin lifts his hand to cup Pat’s cheek, to brush stray hairs out of Pat’s face.

“You’re doing your best. And you’ve got the best on your side. Simone cares about you so much, you know? I don’t think she’s taking it personal. She wants you to be happy just as much as you want her to.”

“She’s my best friend,” Pat says, his voice coming out weaker than he’d expected, more vulnerable. “I love her to death. It’s a mutual thing, that we broke up. She’s not into me — not romantically — and it doesn’t make sense for us to stay together, or married, if both of us are going to be better-suited to other relationships in the future.” This, at least, Pat knows by heart; they’ve discussed this endlessly. “I’m just scared shitless of any other relationships in the future. How the hell am I going to find someone who I can trust like her again? She’s — I know this sounds all big-gesture romantic, but it’s not — I swear she’s, like, my other half, the way she gets me. The way I get her. I don’t know what I’d do without her. I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.”

“You don’t have to be without her,” Griffin says gently. “She can still be that to you. If someone doesn’t understand, then they can fuck right off.”

Pat sniffles. “You think?”

“I _know_. If they can’t respect that, they’re not worth your time. You deserve someone who’ll treat you right.” Griffin clears his throat. “I’m not, uh, I’m not propositioning you for, like, a relationship-relationship, but, look, if you do want to try the friends-with-benefits thing for a while, I’m down.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a moment of significant eye contact, before Pat turns away.

“Sorry,” Pat says, hoarsely.

“Don’t be. Let’s go sit somewhere else, yeah? Not at the kitchen table?”

“Okay. Give me a minute.”

“Sure. I’ll — I’ll, like, go use the bathroom and then camp out in the living room, alright? You take your time. There’s no pressure for anything, I swear.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Pat takes Griffin’s gift; he puts away leftovers and puts the dishes in the dishwasher and takes his good sweet time to pull himself together before he sits down on the couch with Griffin. Griffin offers an extended arm, and although Griffin’s shorter than Pat, he still puts his arm on the back of the couch around Pat’s shoulders as he turns his body more towards him and puts his phone down.

“How are you doing?” Griffin says.

“Honestly, Griffin, I’m kind of a hot mess,” Pat says, with a wry sort of smile.

“I get that. Is this okay?” Griffin says, indicating where Griffin’s arm is touching Pat’s shoulders, where their thighs are touching.

“Yeah, you’re fine.” God, he’s so _scared_ to want this, scared that it really will blow up in his face, that this is all some elaborate ruse and if Pat actually dares to think Griffin wants to touch him then all the facade will come down and Pat will get his face laughed in and, and he is fully anxiety spiraling.

He feels on some sort of hair-trigger, like anything could set him off in some direction, into terror or delight, into crying or into kissing, or any offshoot he can’t foresee. He wishes Griffin would move in first, that he’d take the lead and push Pat down and kiss him until his lips hurt.

“What are you thinking?” Griffin asks softly, like he’s afraid to break the moment.

“How I’m scared but I’ve got no reason to be,” Pat says, not looking at him. 

“On the contrary, I think you’re perfectly within your rights to feel that way. There’s no pressure, by the way. Like, we don’t have to do anything at all tonight. Or ever! You can set the pace, Pat.”

“What if —” Pat has to stop, close his eyes, restart, take another run at it. “What if I did want to do something tonight.”

“Like what?”

God, this is _hard_. Hard to make into words. Fuck. “Maybe, uh, like. Kiss you?” He wants to _hide_, to bury his face in his hands, to crawl under a blanket and never leave. “Or something?”

“Okay, try that again without hedging it.”

Pat darts a glance at Griffin, who’s looking at him, infinitely patient. He looks softer than Pat’s ever seen, all his sharp edges sheathed, just for Pat.

“Kiss me,” Pat whispers, and so he does.

Griffin shifts forward and cups Pat’s face in his hands, studies him for a long moment — Pat can’t imagine what he’s looking for, but apparently whatever he sees satisfies him, because his eyes close, and Pat only has time to process a thought about how pretty Griffin’s eyelashes are before Griffin tilts his chin up to press the sweetest, most delicate kiss to Pat’s lips. It’s feather-light, like a brush of butterfly wings; it rips a gasp from Pat, born of the way anxiety has fucked with his breathing. Griffin nearly darts away; Pat can feel his body twitch. But Pat puts his hand lightly at the base of Griffin’s skull and keeps him there to return the kiss.

Pat’s shaky, terrified, but as the second kiss turns into a third, a fourth, another, he finds that tight knot in his chest beginning to transform into something different, something new.

His eyes are still closed when Griffin pulls away, and without meaning to, he makes a little whimper of protest that makes Griffin go _oh_. That’s when Pat opens his eyes. Griffin looks at least half as stunned as Pat feels, like he wasn’t expecting — whatever it was that he wasn’t expecting.

“That was nice,” Pat says on a sigh, and then pitches forward to tuck his face against the side of Griffin’s neck, hugging him tight, hiding from the possibility of more kisses, of more vulnerability.

“It was,” Griffin says, threading his fingers through Pat’s hair. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m good. Just. Only hugs now.”

“Okay, Pat,” Griffin says softly. “D’you wanna put the TV on or something and we can just chill? Not, uh, euphemistically. Just, like, hang out, and maybe cuddle if you want, no big if you don’t.”

“That sounds great,” Pat says, and reaches for the remote.

When Simone gets home, Griffin’s dozing against Pat, the both of them curled up together. Pat looks up at her, half-guiltily, and she positively beams. She winks at him, and makes an exaggerated show of tiptoeing away to the bedroom.

“‘S that Simone?” Griffin mumbles, and Simone pauses in her sneaking.

“Yep, it’s me!” she says. “I won’t bug you, though. You can keep snuggling all you like!”

“Time’s it?”

“Almost ten-thirty.”

“Damn, I should get home. Nice of you to let me over like this,” Griffin says, with a slow sleepy grin.

“I hope you come back! Make Pat smile like this, shit, you’re always welcome,” Simone says, and Pat feels his face go hot.

Griffin laughs. “As long as you want me around, Pat,” he says. Pat squeezes him in a tighter hug, and Griffin looks at him with such a soft sweet smile that Pat gathers all his nerve and presses a lightning-quick kiss to Griffin’s cheek.

“Cute!” Simone says. Pat flips her off, and she leaves the room cackling. “You two have fun!”

Pat kisses Griffin goodbye, and though his heart races, he lets himself linger in it, with Griffin’s hands on his waist, their foreheads touching after their lips part, the only sound in the room their breathing.

“Night, Pat,” Griffin whispers.

“Night, Griff.”

Griffin steps back and opens the door. “Bye, Simone!” he yells in the direction of the bedroom, and Simone’s familiar laugh echoes out to them as Griffin winks at Pat, then slips out the door.

“Tell me everything,” says Simone, chin in her hands, looking up at Pat with rapt excitement. “Or don’t! It’s okay if you don’t want to. I won’t pry. Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. We just, um. We kissed a little, that’s all. And watched a bunch of Food Network.”

“Cute.”

“Whatever.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“Surprisingly okay,” Pat confesses. “I was afraid I was gonna freak out, and I didn’t. Not too bad, anyway.” He bites his lip. “I don’t really know what to do with myself right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, wow, I did that, what next? Is there anything that comes next? Do I just snuggle up with Griffin for a while, maybe fool around with him if I ever get the nerve, and then go on my merry boyfriend-finding way? I don’t — I really don’t think the two of us are going to end up, like, a thing. It’s nice, don’t get me wrong, he’s really sweet, but I’m not sure he’s looking for an additional full-time partner, and I’m not sure I want to commit to someone who’s already married.”

“Like yourself.”

“Simone.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to tease. I’m just — this is gonna sound sappy, but I’m happy for you. I’m glad you’re figuring things out.”

Pat smiles at her, even around the ache of sadness in his chest. “Yeah. Thank you for being so supportive.”

“Of course, Pat. I want you to be happy just as much as I want to be happy, and I’m — I think it’s good for us. To be looking for what’s right for us.”

Pat opens his mouth to say — something — god, he doesn’t even know what, but he trips over his words and says, “I’m gonna miss you,” instead of anything productive.

“What? I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, remember?”

“I-I know. But there’s gonna be a point where we’re moving on and move out and that maybe I’ll be with someone else and maybe you’ll have found your platonic soulmate and we won’t be as close anymore and you’re my best friend and I love you more than anything and I don’t know what I’m going to _do_ when I’m not coming back home to you.”

“Pat,” she says, and cups his face in both her hands. “You dummy, _you’re_ my platonic soulmate if there ever was such a thing! Who else could I have weathered this with and still stayed close to? That still wanted to be around me? I can tell you anything and I’m not afraid that it’ll ruin our relationship.” She leans up and kisses his forehead. “Even if we end up in different places, that’s not gonna change. You’re still gonna be just as important to me.”

Pat pulls her into a hug, and she lunges forward with more force than Pat expected, tackling him down to the bed complete with tickling fingers digging into his ribs, making him squawk and making her cackle.

“I love you. You can’t get rid of me even if you try,” Simone says.

“Thank god. Someone who voluntarily puts up with my shit. What would I do without you?”

“Perish, probably.”

“Yeah. You’re right. Rock-paper-scissors for big spoon?”

“Oh, you can be little spoon tonight, I won’t even make you cheat for it. C’mere, buddy, let’s get some sleep.”

Everything seems a little better, a little more in the right place, with his best friend on his side. Even if he’s terrified of the future, even if he has no idea what’s going to happen to him next… well, at least he knows Simone’s got his back. Literally, as it happens, with her pressed up against him like this, her arm wrapped tight around his chest.

“Love you,” Pat mumbles into his pillow.

“G’night, Pat. Love you too.”

She holds him tighter for just a moment, and when she relaxes, it’s like something inside him relaxes too. He finally lets his eyes slip closed, grateful in the knowledge that no matter what happens, they’ve always got each other.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos mean the world to me always! ♥


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